


omnia vincit amor

by SyrenGrey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Forbidden Love, Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort, Intense, Light BDSM, Romance, Sexy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-18 07:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13094955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyrenGrey/pseuds/SyrenGrey
Summary: Dark days are here at Hogwarts, and the darkest cloud of all is hanging over Draco Malfoy's head. Already burdened with the impossible task of murdering the Headmaster, life becomes more complex when an elusive prophecy entangles him with a bushy-haired enemy, and a steamy forbidden romance unfolds. DRAMIONE. Sixth Year. Rated M for sexual content and violence.





	1. I: The Wheel of Fortune

Author's Note: Obviously I'm not JKR and these characters, locations, and the HP universe don't belong to me. I just like to make believe about 'em. :)

**I: The Wheel of Fortune**

»»-¤-««

Vapor. All Draco Malfoy could see was the ghost of his breath as he exhaled, the dense white mist lingering before his face contrasting against the midnight navy Scotland night.

The cold air was crippling, but he relished in it. What would happen if he took an extra step off the tower? How long would it take before he would be able to take the fate of his life into his own hands? But no, he was not the type to permanently harm himself. He just needed to brood, and brood he did often, finding solace in the high altitude and crisp, clean air of the Astronomy tower. He would look up at the stars that he could not name and lose himself in the quiet of the night. Quiet, despite the nagging voices in his head reminding him of his impending doom. Reminding him that regardless of how calm his environment may be, he has a task that he cannot fail. His family, his safety, his life, everything was riding on the impossible task to… to… He shook his head. That's enough, he didn't need to think about it anymore.

He exhaled again until there was no more air to expel from his lungs. His fingers tingled from the cold and he could no longer feel his nose. Perhaps it was time to turn back; after all, he had his sixth year courses in the morning, not that it mattered anymore. Not that anything mattered anymore. He hardly felt his legs move beneath him as he made his way back inside, his heels clicking loudly against the tile floor as the weight of his body pushed open the door to the Astronomy Tower. Down a flight of stairs, and past the divination classrooms. Like clockwork, he could map his route blindfolded. And yet something was different on that evening. What is that? he thought. Though the dim halls appeared still as always, the air buzzed with the faint echo of a murmur. Transfixed, Draco found himself compelled to follow the sound until it revealed itself, the faint words formed into a chant. His hand pressed against the cold heavy wooden door and his eyes scanned the room. His nostrils filled with the scent of musk, earth, and spices.

"Let it be heard," came a soft, hurried whisper. Draco recognized the voice and moved closer toward it, curiosity besting him. "During this ephemeral Piscean moon, cleanse all evil spirits from within and - and -"

"Professor?" Draco spoke, unsure of what exactly he was encountering. She's off her rocker, he told himself. Professor Trelawney's actions had always baffled Draco, though he never cared enough to try and understand them; he didn't know if he stood a chance at comprehending what she was up to in the middle of the night while her hands were cupping a chestnut colored glowing crystal ball.

Her face snapped up at him, her normally blazing green eyes were misty and out of focus behind her thick spectacles.

"Dark deeds," she said in a voice that sounded too forceful to be her own, "rest on the shoulders of the dragon who will know no rest."

He blinked, wondering if he had heard her right.

"Whose task shall maim all wizard kind, lest he find respite in the one."

"Professor, I don't underst -"

"With the virgin born beyond the arcane, whose star-crossed paths will intertwine."

"Virgin?" he stumbled back, his head spinning with the attempt to comprehend this mad-woman.

"In time, their love will vanquish, lest their wrath consume us all," she finished, her words lingering in the air as though too heavy to dissipate.

Draco's eyes stung, and he realized that he had not blinked in several moments. The hovering line of smoke, from burning frankincense, swirled around the doe-eyed, messy woman before him. In an instant, she shook her head, causing the fog to disperse, disoriented.

"Oh! Mister Malfoy," he jumped at her words, "what on earth are you doing here?" He stared at her, dumbfounded. He noticed that her eyes had returned to their cloudless state and her voice had returned to the ethereal pitch he was used to.

"I was just," he cleared his throat, "I was doing my rounds. You know, prefect duties."

"Ah, yes of course. I didn't see you come in, though to be perfectly frank I feel a bit funny. Saturn must be in Sagittarius now…"

The more she spoke, the less Draco understood. "What do you mean 'the virgin born beyond the arcane'? Whose love will vanquish what? What does all that mean?"

"Pardon?" It was Trelawney's turn to stare at him disoriented, and Draco exhaled in exasperation, struggling to verbalize his own confusion. "My dear boy, you must be tired. You are making no sense at all! The lunar cycle must be altering your aura, dear. Ah, but I must head to bed anyway, I must be experiencing some dizzy spell."

Without another word, she slipped out of her seat and left, leaving Draco to stare at the crystal ball with the chestnut colored glow.

»»-¤-««

The fire crackled and roared as Hermione's toes finally warmed up in front of the fireplace. She, Harry Potter, and Ronald Weasley were all seated in front of the red flames, the two boys engaged in wizard's chess while Hermione flipped through her Potions book, attempting to memorize the recipes before reaching the recipe for the Draught of the Living Death. Her lips formed a scowl.

"So you just happened to know to crush the Sopophorous bean rather than cut it, did you?" Harry looked up at her and sighed, clearly tired of the conversation they had numerous times that week.

"I improvised, is that so hard to believe?"

"It is. But that's alright, I have a date with the library soon and I don't intend on leaving there until I learn how you crafted that draught without any issues, Harry."

"Oh, you've gone and done it," Ron said, moving his knight to take Harry's rook, "we don't stand a chance at ever seeing her again since she's setting up camp in her beloved library." Harry shrugged as Hermione's scowl deepened. "I call dibs on her finished homework," he whispered to Harry who grinned in response.

"It's fine," she said, ignoring their lightheartedness as Harry and Ron exchanged skeptical glances, "I just thought I'd study a bit since we've got our N.E.W.T.-level classes this year. You two should start on the Defense Against the Dark Arts homework, it takes at least three hours."

"Ugh!" Ron said, and Hermione wasn't sure whether that was in response to her statement or the fact that Harry had just taken his bishop.

"And I doubt," she continued, pulling her knee-high socks back on, "Snape will go easy on us now that he's finally teaching Defense." The boys nodded, deeply distracted in the final few moves of their chess game, before she excused herself and grabbed her book bag, making her way to the library.

The familiar scent of the library was always nostalgic to her, taking her back to First Year when she would spend nearly every day pouring over each text book. It's not as though she wasn't as studious in her sixth year, but her obsessive demeanor had mellowed as she grew up, her priorities shifting with each year that Voldemort's threat grew and her life seemed more and more fragile. Still, she relished in the solid stillness of the library and the hushed whispers of the students attempting to learn something new.

She picked her favorite spot, deep within the library near the window that overlooked the lake. With a thud, she dropped a pile of four or five books specializing in the potions that she would no doubt be required to create for Professor Slughorn. She dove in, scribbling notes in her leatherbound journal about the history of each potion, the people who crafted them, and the ingredients based on location and season. She struggled to find some edge, any edge that would prevent her from failing another potion. It's not as though she wasn't proud of Harry, and in a way she felt she should be ashamed at how upset and jealous she was at not completing the potion correctly, but years of success through diligent effort left her feeling as though she should have done better.

"Granger," a voice said. Hermione looked up to peer into smoky grey eyes peering down at her.

"Er, yes?" she said, sitting up, "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I need this book," he pointed at one of her books, Tips and Tricks to Drafting Draughts. As she looked at him again, she noticed how much he had changed over the years. His once child-like pointed features were now chiseled and rigid. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his hair - although still slicked back as was his trademark - was now a bit messier and covered some of his forehead. He wore black now, at all times, and although he had always been a healthy child he had thinned and his broad shoulders were prominent against his lithe frame.

"Well," she hardened, "I don't know what to tell you, I need to read it too. You'll have to find another copy."

"There is no other copy," he spoke through his teeth, impatiently, "listen, can I just - just sit here and read it?" He pulled out a chair across from her and slipped into it without waiting for her response.

"Fine!" she huffed, "I suppose, but don't take it with you, I need it."

"Why," he spoke under his breath, "to get O's on your O.W.L.s again? You've already surpassed everyone, why bother anymore?" Hermione didn't know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment, but she scowled regardless, staying silent as she shoved the book toward Malfoy.

There was something different about him entirely. The way Draco Malfoy shifted in his seat, hurriedly skimming through pages as he located the one he was looking for. His eyes scanned as if there was nothing in the world that could distract him anymore, as if nothing in the world could penetrate his focus. It was unnerving, and Hermione found herself distracted by his presence. What is he looking for, anyway? She thought to herself, peering at the pages that Malfoy had landed on and was now intently immersed in. Felix Felicis? Why is he trying to learn about that? It's in our itinerary, we are going to attempt to craft that in a few weeks, Hermione thought. Her gaze wandered. His long fingers were tracing the lines of the pages and she found herself entranced in his languid, fluid movement. He looked like a man, like he had never looked before. His fingers were long and thin, silver rings decorated some of his fingers, and a leather cuff was wrapped snugly around his wrist. He reminded her of someone, like a muggle rockstar, or Gilderoy Lockhart if he had been sorted into Slytherin. Hermione Granger, you dolt. Are you really comparing your childhood nemesis to Gilderoy Lockhart? Granted, Lockhart did turn out to be a bit of a prat, didn't he? She rolled her eyes at herself, and chuckled.

Perhaps she forgot that she was in a library with other people, but her chuckle did not go without attracting attention. Malfoy looked up slowly, his gaze pinning her down. Hermione felt the hot crawl of a blush sneak up her neck and rest in her cheeks as she avoided his eye contact.

"This," she stammered, "this book is just funny."

"That book is funny? Eighth Century Potionmasters and their Canny Apprentices is a funny book?" Hermione would have laughed at herself if she didn't feel so embarrassed by this moment. She was grateful that Malfoy was not adept at Legilimency, otherwise she would not have been able to live another day without shame.

"Yes, actually, these people led very interesting and sometimes, er, amusing lives," she retorted and bowed her head into her book, hoping that her blush would subside.

"You're odd, Granger."

He may be right, she told herself, though once she had recovered from the embarrassment she began to feel an entirely new wave of humiliation for having looked at Malfoy that way. Stupid hormones, she thought. Her mother had always warned her that adolescence was a funny phase, but she never thought she would be checking out the spoiled, self-absorbed boy that was Draco Malfoy. Anyway, she told herself, it's not like I care for him. He's just grown up. Any girl would notice that; he's probably still the same old hateful brat that he always has been.

Nearly half an hour of studying had passed before she realized that a book was being prodded in her direction. Malfoy was holding up the book he had borrowed toward her, absently engaged in another book. She reached to take it and mumbled an impulsive, "thanks," before her eyes made out that he was reading a book on Divination.

"Why are you reading that? Are you even taking Divinations this year?" she said curiously. Malfoy's eyebrows furrowed in irritation before he looked up at her.

"I am not," he stated sternly, a strand of pale blond hair was covering one of his eyes but he made no move to fix it. "I did not expect that if I continued to sit here I'd be hounded for my choice of literature. Should I move?"

"I -" He has a point, a voice said in Hermione's mind, it was a bit nosey of you. Hermione sighed, frustrated, "I didn't realize I was meddling -"

"It's fine," he brushed off the rest of her apology, "It's all a crock of shit anyway, isn't it?" A small smile played at the edge of his lips and Hermione reciprocated with a smile of her own and a small nod before immersing herself back into her book.

»»-¤-««


	2. II: The Hanged Man

»»-¤-««

**II: The Hanged Man**

He didn't know why he cared so much. It was probably all bullshit anyway. A virgin born beyond the arcane? A virgin muggle? A squib who was a virgin? And what was this person supposed to do for him, after all? Was this supposed virgin supposed to murder Dumbledore for him? No, he doubted it. Was their magical love supposed to ward off all the death eaters and reconcile his father back into his life? Of course not. So why did he spend so much time and effort musing over the nonsense Trelawney had spewed?

He stood up from the black leather sofa and paced around the Slytherin Dungeons. The dark stone walls cast long shadows as Draco crossed in front of the large carved mantelpiece with its quiet, modest fire. He knew of prophecies, of course he did, his entire existence was haunted by the prophecy of the Dark Lord and Saint Potter. If it wasn't for that blasted prophecy his life would perhaps be normal again. No, he knew that prophecies carried their weight and were not to be ignored, but how could he possibly decipher the one he received just a few days ago, randomly and in the middle of the night? He hardly understood what Trelawney meant, let alone who the "virgin born beyond the arcane" was and how she would "help him find respite." And even if he did, didn't the prophecy end in either success or utter failure?

He sighed and fell back into the black leather sofa, pulling a pile of books in front of him. He didn't even know where to start looking. Foretelling the Future: A Seer's Guide to Tomorrow? Or Seeing Your Stars: Finding Love In the Celestial? Was the Table of Contents supposed to tell him how to interpret nonsense? He pushed the books to the floor in frustration. He had looked through them countless times already.

He should have just asked Granger when he had the chance. Somehow, she knew how to read books and find exactly what she was looking for. He had no idea how she was so skilled with obtaining information no matter how elusive. He rested his head in his hands, shutting his eyes for a mere moment. It had been a long time since he slept, and even longer since he had a restful night of deep sleep. His bones ached, his temple throbbed, and he felt the nagging hunger of a man who had not felt affection in years. It doesn't matter, he told himself, I won't live long enough to feel pain much longer. The reality of his task made itself known, weighing on him like a stack of bricks on his chest. He felt nausea creep up before he opened his eyes and made a deliberate effort to inhale slowly and exhale steadily, hoping he wouldn't be sick. Things were going all wrong, and it was beyond his control. The necklace his aunt Bellatrix had sent him had not reached Dumbledore, and the idiot Katie Bell ended up becoming cursed instead. Perfect, he thought with sarcasm, that's all I need - Dumbledore becoming aware that he's a target.

After a few deep, slow breaths his vision came back into focus and he felt his nerves relax. He reached down to collect the books he had thrown, and upon reaching for a large leather-bound tome, one of the words caught his gaze and caused him to freeze.

"What?" he muttered to himself, "The twins, the crab, the lion, the virgin, the scales, the scorpion... The virgin?" How had he not seen it before? He skipped to the end of the book to check the index, where he saw the words 'Virgo, the Virgin'. Was this what she meant?

Before he thought any further, he snapped the book shut and shook his head. It was drivel, complete drivel. He was chasing nonsense when he had real, imminent tasks that he had to complete otherwise his entire world would crumble. He would die, his family would die, everything his father had worked for would be lost to the wrath of the Dark Lord.

It was time for bed. It was time to sleep and not think of any of this stargazing rubbish anymore.

»»-¤-««

Hermione stared at her feet. Small, messy circles had developed near her heels as her tears dripped off her chin and crashed onto the floor. She sniffled, alerting the enchanted canaries who swarmed up and took flight around the empty classroom. With a swish of her wand, Hermione conjured another canary which formed before her eyes. With a subtle, almost insignificant tap of her wand the bird chirped into life. At least amidst her sorrow, she was able to create something beautiful, Hermione realized. How had she found herself at this point, all alone in an empty classroom while her fellow Gryffindors chanted and cheered the Quidditch team for their victory?

The lot of them made Hermione's blood boil, though there was one person in particular she was infuriated with. A flash of vivid red hair swept in Hermione's thoughts before she shook her head, attempting to empty her mind of it's contents. It wasn't as though she loved him or anything, she knew that. But there was a part of her that always assumed something might happen between them; after all, he seemed so keen on being her date for Slughorn's party. Ron had been acting odd since that, though, almost resentful. Who cares? she asked herself, I don't need him.

Then why did she feel as though a weight had sunk at the pit of her stomach? Rage began to swell inside her as she pictured it again: Ron, moments after they'd won the Quidditch match, snogging - no - groping Lavender Brown. Lavender Brown, of all people! That ditzy, useless, silly girl. It wasn't until another tear had dripped off her cheek before she realized how warm her face felt. Hermione reached to wipe a tear against her warm, reddened cheek. She exhaled, her rage subsiding as she identified the emotion she had been feeling all along. Her pride, that infamous Gryffindor pride, had been wounded. It was humiliation that hurt Hermione the most, not the potential loss of Ronald Weasley as a romantic prospect.

Hermione knew that she wasn't a child anymore. Though she hadn't thought of herself as the type for frivolity, Hermione recognized that things had changed for her. Perhaps it was fifth year when it started, when she began to feel aware of her own physical presence. Though her male peers continued to pester her, as always, for homework help, Hermione had noticed that their gaze would linger beats longer than before and for the first time boys were eager to pair with her in Transfiguration, despite knowing full-well that they would be transfigured at their own detriment. Despite this, Hermione felt embarrassed of being spurned for the average, under-achieving Lavender Brown.

The birds jumped, startled, as the heavy door screeched. Hermione attempted to wipe her face of any emotional evidence and turned to object to any intrusion before she found herself before her raven haired, confused friend.

"I don't want to talk," Hermione muttered quietly. Poor Harry, she thought, always caught in the middle without any idea of what's occurring around him. His presence grounded her, and she felt her embarrassment washing away piece by piece. He sat beside her, his arm draped across her shoulder as he held her and allowed her to cry. She had just begun to feel a bit better when the large door croaked again, this time revealing the only person in the world Hermione did not want to see.

What a snot, she thought, watching Ron enter the classroom and engage in conversation with Harry - only Harry, as if she wasn't there, as if she did not exist to him. That intense, wounded pride roared inside her as she stood up quickly; her fingers instinctively gripped her wand and her wrist lifted to point to the lanky, ginger teen before her. In an instant, and with a look of sincere fear in Ron's eyes, the birds which had been floating peacefully above them moments ago made a bee-line toward him. With each diving bird he jumped and howled with pain, a puff of feathers exploding as they struck him. She didn't give him a chance to recover before she pushed past him and through the door, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She walked and walked as far as she could away from that silly boy.

Her legs were leading her, but her mind was still muddy with thought. Before she realized it, a rush of cold air whipped across her like an ocean wave. She saw only a dark horizon. It took a moment for her to realize that she had walked all the way to the front of the castle. The air was crisp and almost stinging, but it felt good against her hot skin. Whatever she did, she did not want to go back inside, anywhere near him. In the distance, Hermione noticed the warm, familiar, and inviting glow of Hagrid's hut. She moved toward it, distancing herself from the castle and its inhabitants with each step.

»»-¤-««

Draco Malfoy felt extremely lucky. Not because he had been able to procure an almost consumable dose of Felix Felicis, though he was hopeful that he would have a perfect batch soon enough, but because it was finally a full moon. After everything he'd read, he knew that the only time to guarantee oddity and restlessness was on the full moon.

His legs were swift, moving him across the Hogwarts grounds quickly before he was shrouded in the dark trees of the Forbidden Forest. He pulled out his wand and muttered an incantation which conjured a wispy blue orb that slithered out of the tip of his wand. The orb floated forward, and Draco followed, ducking under tree branches and stepping over three inch tall spiders and spiky knarls. The Forbidden Forest was a wild place; though it was only a short walk away from a thriving castle, the forest was brimming with creatures as if civilization did not exist nearby. Animals roamed and consumed each other without any fear of him. Draco followed the orb through various trees, hearing sounds from all angles but without any real fear of danger; he seldom felt anything these days.

He nearly ran into a tree before the orb stopped right before him, sputtered, and dissolved into thin air. Draco looked up and what he saw made him breathless. It was as if he was in a painting. The moon was clear over the horizon, illuminating a lush pasture while a small meadow streamed ahead, the sound of water flowing between rocks lulling him into tranquility. He exhaled, nearly fainting from the calm. He felt lulled by the waters, drawn to them. Draco's limbs moved without his knowledge, guided forward toward the stream before the sound of hooves rushing at him startled him and caused him to stumble backwards, tripping over a tree root.

"What are you doing here?" As Draco shuffled back onto his feet, he saw the majestic, tall centaur towering before him. It was fortunate, Draco realized, that the centaur was alone.

"I'm here to speak with you," Draco's voice carried a clear confidence, as if unaware that the massive creature before him could kill him in an instant.

"Foolish boy, do you know where you are? It is a dangerous time for the forest; the spiders are restless and the moon is full."

"Yes, I know that," he said, dismissively, "I need your help deciphering a prophecy. I know you can help me."

The centaur raised an eyebrow skeptically. Though the centaur was much taller than Draco, he was of smaller stature compared to his brethren. The centaur had deep bronze hair that reached the small of his back, his eyes looked like they were made of amethyst as they sparked under the moonlight. His body, that of a horse, was an ash blond and Draco noticed several scars along his side. He was beautiful, but as most ethereal beautiful creatures are, he was quite intimidating. Though Draco had some experience with centaurs in the Forbidden Forest, he knew that he put himself in significant danger by attempting to involve a centaur in his business. They were proud, calculated, and logical creatures but they had no emotional depth for human suffering.

"We do not meddle in your wizard affairs, I'm afraid I cannot help you," the centaur said, turning away.

"You - You must know," Draco spoke slowly, "You know that everything is going to change soon." The centaur stopped and peered back at Draco. "You know that there will be war, that horrible things will happen - not just to wizards but to everyone."

"I had hoped that I was wrong," he turned, "the stars have told me much, and the darkest of days are upon us." The centaur peered at Draco curiously, "though there is a glimmer of hope."

"That's why I'm here," Draco responded, "I received a prophecy that I can make things better, that I can prevent the - the death of a great wizard." He didn't know if he should have said that, whether the centaurs reported to Dumbledore, or whether he was even safe enough to make it out of the Forbidden Forest alive, but it didn't matter anymore. Draco sighed deeply, his shoulders heaving as his breath released in a white mist. "I don't know what to do. I need your help, a seer told me that I must complete a dark deed, but that I - well, I suppose that I can be saved by the love..." he sighed, he couldn't believe he even had to utter the words, "by the love of a virgin? A virgin born 'beyond the arcane', or something, I'm not entirely sure. Something about being star-crossed - and something about finding each other or hating each other. Basically everything will go to shit if I don't figure this out."

The centaur had turned to face Draco again and was gazing at him, no - gazing into him. Draco stared back, unsure of what to do. He suddenly felt very heavy, as if he was glued to the ground under the stare of this centaur. It felt like an eternity before the centaur spoke.

"Star-crossed, you said."

"Yes," Draco nodded. "I think that's what she said."

The centaur bowed his head to the side, his leg tapping onto the dirt floor in contemplation.

"Then you must look to the stars," the centaur said, "fate will reveal its face to you." Draco's eyebrows furrowed with frustration.

"What does that mean?" Draco asked, indignantly, irritation creeping into his tone. "I don't know how to bloody look to the stars, that's why I came to ask you! I don't know what the hell fate's face will look like!"

"Your time is not here, though it will be very shortly. You must face a great trial," the centaur said, slowly moving over the meadow and away from Draco, "one you have never known before. And when your time comes, you must live with both eyes open. Although you are shrouded in darkness, you may only ask to lift the shroud. I'm sorry," he paused, bowing his head with a glimmer of pain in his eyes, "that is all I am permitted to say."

As the words sunk into Draco's brain, the flicker of annoyance that had been burning in the pit of his stomach suddenly erupted into full rage. Was that all he would get? What good was the centaur if he wasn't going to help him decipher the blasted prophecy, but rather provide more elusive riddles he'd have to solve?

"I need more! I need more information, I don't know what the bloody hell to do with that!" Draco's voice rose with every word as his fist clenched at his sides.

"You must keep quiet," the centaur muttered, "you will alert the others, and there is no safety here for you."

"Oh, I'll alert the others, will I? Perhaps they can help!" As soon as the words left Draco's lips, the dirt beneath Draco's feet rumbled and the sound of galloping hooves grew louder. There were three in total before him now, and reality struck Draco like a harsh jolt. He was not safe here.

"What is this, Cadus?" another centaur asked before the centaur who had spoken to Draco turned away.

As the centaurs spoke in soft murmurs, Draco's insitincts kicked in and he seized the moment. In an instant, he began to run through the trees. A moment had hardly passed before he heard the sound of rushing hooves striking the floor behind him, and the slick sound of a bow string being pulled. Within a second, Draco stumbled forward, the burning sensation piercing his leg. In an attempt to catch his falling weight, Draco outstretched his arms and fell forward with a thud. His forehead collided directly with an imposing tree root which had twisted and grown above the ground. Before he knew it, darkness engulfed him.

»»-¤-««

It felt like ages had passed when Draco awoke. He felt dazed, distant. Was he dead? Is this what death was like? Dark, cold, damp and... dreamy? He blinked, attempting to adjust his vision before the blurry image of soft, brown curls slowly came into focus.

"Wha - what's happening?" Draco muttered. He attempted to blink, but the daze provide difficult to discard. The head snapped up with a gasp, and the face of Hermione Granger emerged into his view. She was still blurry, though it looked almost as though a ring of light glowed around her.

"You scared me!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know you were up."

"Well, I'm up," Draco stated hoarsely as he attempted to pull himself up onto his elbows. Drip, drip, drip, the sound of trickling water hitting the cold floor sounded like thunder to Draco's aching head. Afar he could see the outlines of trees, but they were sheltered under cold stone. Perhaps in a cave, Draco surmised. How did they get there?

"No, don't do that," she urged, pressing her hand onto his chest as she guided him to lay back down.

"I'm almost done healing your leg. I'm sorry, I should have done that sooner but I spent some of my time crafting a Calming Draught for you. I -" she huffed, flustered, looking back down on his leg, "I thought you might need it after being dragged off and nearly killed by those centaurs. It took quite a bit of convincing to get them to not kill you!" She admonished, "But they recognized me from, well you wouldn't know, but I had a run-in with them last year."

"You concocted a draught for me in the Forbidden Forest," he paused, disbelieving, "after fighting off centaurs?"

"Well, I didn't exactly 'fight' them, just spoke with them, humbly," Hermione said, her lips pursing a bit as she gave him a brief look. Hermione pointed her wand at Draco's leg, which was now almost entirely healed except for some scratches on his calf. "And it wasn't a fully matured Calming Draught," she continued, "that takes sixty days. I just combined some herbs: shrivelfig, lavender, hellebore. The ingredients are rather common in this forest -"

Hermione was cut off by the sound of hoarse laughter.

"What are you laughing at?" she asked alarmed. Draco was shaking, clutching his sides. Hermione wondered if perhaps she messed up the draught, perhaps it wasn't safe to produce a temporary dose of it. "Are you alright?" Her tone was steady with concern. She had her wand pointed at him, contemplating any possible spell to knock him out in the event he was experiencing a dangerous side effect to the experimental elixir.

Noticing her wand, Draco lifted his hand and waved it away as his laughter died down.

"I'm fine," he said, a grin still plastered on his face as he continued chuckling. He reached to pull his hair back out of his eyes before he grimaced and hissed with pain at the sore bump on his forehead. Hermione looked up, her expression of alarm unchanging.

"Ouch, I didn't notice that one," she said, cupping his chin and angling his face down in order to get a good look at his forehead where a small gash had split on his eyebrow ridge and the area appeared bruised and swollen. "I'll get to it soon. Why are you still laughing?" Her tone sounded almost accusatory, as if his laughter was at her expense.

Draco yanked his head away, and leaned back with a soft chuckle, "it's just - well, you're a bit ridiculous, aren't you?"

"What?" she demanded, the grip on her wand tightening until her knuckles turned white. "Ridiculous?"

"You saved me from centaurs, you - what - dragged me into a cave? You healed my wounds, and you crafted a Calming Draught all before I woke up? And it's still dark out so you likely only had a few hours. That's absurd, Granger." Draco Malfoy had a way of making Hermione wonder whether he was paying her a shining compliment or cruel criticism. She scowled at him.

"Well, if you'd rather I'd have left you, I can drag you back out!"

"No, no," he spoke, an earnest smile still playing at his lips, "It's good, Granger. I'm lucky it was you that found me." His words hung in the air, playing on repeat in her head. "You saved my life." Hermione looked at him, and she could see his piercing gray eyes staring at her. He looked so serious, experiencing a moment of lucidity in spite of the calming elixir that coursed through him. "Merlin, could you imagine if Crabbe or Goyle had found me? We'd all be dead." Draco began to laugh again. Perhaps the calming draught was working after all, Hermione thought to herself, she had never seen him so relaxed before.

"Well I didn't drag you, I levitated you. But, you're welcome," she said with a curt nod, looking away to veil the blush that had developed in her cheeks. She declined to mention that the calming draught was provided as a precautionary measure; she didn't know whether he would attack her and attempt to flee if he woke up in a dark cave with her huddled over his body. This way, he would at least feel calm enough to not care of his circumstances, even if she was doing him a favor by tending to his wounds.

She had become very aware of the fact that it was Draco Malfoy's skin that she was touching, her hand clutching his left leg as she healed the shallow cuts. She had already treated the deep gash that was caused by the centaur's arrow, and with a swift stroke of her wand, the scratches on his skin disappeared.

Draco stared up at the ceiling of the cave where ragged rocks loomed overhead. The spirited sounds of the forest outside soothed him, and the soft, rhythmic exhale of Granger's breathing made him feel euphoric, as if he was one with the world. It had been so long since he felt peace, and although this was artificial, caused by a potion, he was grateful for the sensation. He noticed her now, working in quiet concentration as if it was her mission to help him. She didn't owe him anything; if she left him there to die, he knew he would have deserved it after being so cruel to her for so many years.

"You may want to pay Madam Pomfrey a visit," Hermione said, snapping Draco out of his thoughts, "I think I healed most of your superficial wounds, but you were struck pretty deep with the arrow and I am not a healer, I just did what I could to stop the bleeding and patch the wounds."

"Can I sit up now?" Draco asked with amusement. Hermione nodded and took his hand, helping to sit up. Draco assessed his leg by moving his ankle around and bending his knee toward his body. "It's perfect, thank you." She leaned forward, her gaze focused on the swelling of his forehead now.

"Here, let me -" she lifted her wand, but before she could complete her sentence, Draco grabbed her wrist and held it in place.

"No," he said firmly. Hermione looked at him perplexed, the familiar intensity of his features returning as the calming draught slowly lifted its veil. "Please don't," his tone was softer this time, "my forehead will heal soon. You shouldn't have helped me with my leg either but..." his words drifted, and Hermione felt entranced by his severity. Shouldn't have helped him? What should she have done then, let him die? As if in response, Draco sighed and nodded, "I appreciate what you did, Granger. This," he gently touched the darkening bruise on the ridge of his brow "I don't know, it just doesn't feel right to walk away from tonight completely unscathed." His shoulders were hunched forward, as though resigned to his fate of burdening guilt.

Hermione softly pulled her wrist, which he realized he still had in his grasp. Apologetically he released her and awkwardly swept his hair back away from his face.

"What were you doing out there, anyway?" She asked gently, softening the tension between them. She had been sitting on that question all night long. She'd seen him speaking with the centaur but the entire conversation seemed so confusing without proper context and she wasn't exactly sure if she heard everything correctly. He had seemed so serious during their conversation, and made the foolish mistake to lash out at a centaur. She was glad he wasn't killed, though he certainly came close enough to death.

"I was just having a chat," he said, his tone returning to its familiar aloof coolness. Hermione rolled her eyes and he chuckled softly under his breath at his own absurd excuse for an answer. "Well what were you doing out here in the middle of the night all by yourself?" he responded.

Hermione's gaze darkened as she remembered what had initially brought her to the forest. She remembered Ron kissing Lavender and the callous way he had brushed her off.

"I was just…" she mumbled, the events of that evening flashing in her mind. "Oh, I saw you! As I was leaving Hagrid's, I, er, I followed you. Well, I didn't know it was you," she scrambled, "to be honest I likely wouldn't have followed you into the Forbidden Forest if I knew it was you, but I thought you were a student out of bed looking for trouble."

"And I was, wasn't I?" Draco said, a smirk playing on his lips. He caught her gaze and held it, perhaps a beat or two longer than expected, which caused her to look away. In the pale moonlight, he could see her cheeks grow warm as she responded.

"Well, yes," she said, "You were. You are." She bit her lip attempting to stifle a smile. "We should head back, though, I have classes in the morning and we still have to sneak back in without being spotted by Filch." Even Prefects were liable for detention if they were caught out at this hour. "Let's stand you up and see if it hurts to walk."

»»-¤-««


	3. Chapter 3

»»-¤-««

III: **The Moon**

"And then there was the time that I tried out for the Falmouth Falcons, you should have seen it, I blocked nearly all of the shots but then Basil Horton nearly drove the quaffle in with me. It was their mistake to not take me on as keeper - they nearly won the League Cup, but I could have made that happen for them."

Cormac McLaggen was driving Hermione batty.

The more he spoke, the faster she would drink her Butterbeer hoping that it would dullen her senses. It was as if Cormac didn't even realize that she was standing there, completely uninterested in learning of his 1001 Quidditch tricks. She scanned the crowd, seeing some of her classmates and professors awkwardly socialize under the tinsel covered decor. Where is Harry? she thought, hoping that he would somehow manage to pry Cormac away from her enough for her to escape.

"You're quite lucky I'm here tonight," Cormac continued, "I nearly dropped out of Hogwarts last year, but my father wouldn't hear of it. I told him my talents were being wasted every year that I wasn't playing professional Quidditch…" Hermione tuned him out. Although he was in every sense of the word 'eye candy' he was just as equally self-absorbed, uncouth, and unable to take a hint.

"Cormac, Cor-Cormac," she said, having to repeat herself to get him to stop talking, "Could you get me a drink, please, I have to use the loo." He looked a bit startled, as if he didn't realize she had been standing there.

"Oh, sure," he said, his hand patting her on her backside as she gasped with a jump, briskly walking away from him.

As soon as he was out of range, she made her way to the most secluded place she could find: the balcony. Slipping behind the sheer curtains, she pressed her back against the cold stone wall and reveled in the quiet. She ran her hands impulsively over herself, smoothing out her dress. She wore a thin periwinkle gown made of silk, fitting her form and flowing elegantly to her ankles. She felt so very feminine. It was a shame that her appearance was being wasted on the oaf McLaggen. She had even spent half an hour perfecting her hair into flowing waves that draped at her shoulders. She shrugged, at least word would get back to Ron that she was over him and she was looking pretty doing it.

Slughorn's office was blessed with a stunning view. She could see the lake, over the Forbidden Forest, even to the edges of the grounds toward Hagrid's Hut. Her gaze lingered over the tall, thick trees of the Forest and it made her remember that night. I wonder how he's doing, Hermione thought, I wonder what he's doing, and what he was up to that night in the Forest.

There had been a lot of rumors that revolved around Draco Malfoy that year. That he was a Death Eater, that he was behind the malicious cursed item that harmed Katie Bell, that he was up to no good at all. Hermione didn't know if she believed it, after all she had watched Malfoy grow up from a spoiled little boy to the cold, distant man he was now. As a child he was full of himself because he was taught to be full of himself; it's easy to be a villain if you're born into the Dark Arts. But a Death Eater at sixteen? Let alone a Death Eater who was capable of severely harming someone? No, she didn't think he had it in him.

"Harry!" she whispered to herself, having spotted the raven haired head that she recognized very well. Finally, the party was starting to take a turn for the better as she made her way toward Harry, Luna, and Professor Trelawney. Luna and Professor Trelawney appeared to converse very comfortably with one another, which Hermione was grateful for.

"Just don't let him find me, please, I cannot take another moment of him," Hermione pleaded to Harry who nodded supportively.

"Of course, Hermione, though it's your fault you invited him in the first place."

"It was either him or Zacharias Smith," she said, "and I think I made the wrong choice." Harry rolled his eyes at her. It wasn't her fault he didn't understand why she felt the need to make Ron pay for snogging Lavender. She couldn't exactly articulate the vindictive nature of paying back your childhood crush with misery. Though in a way the irony was not lost on her, as she was being punished for her pettiness by having to deal with Cormac, but so be it. As long as Ron was jealous, she was happy.

"Look who I found wandering in the upstairs corridor after hours," the party was interrupted by an intrusive, raspy voice. Hermione turned to see Argus Filch in his usual frayed caretaker clothing, clutching the collar of a tall, scowling handsome blond.

"I was just gatecrashing," Draco Malfoy responded as Filch released him,"I just wanted to join the party, my father has spoken very highly of you Professor Slughorn."

Hermione raised an eyebrow doubtfully.

"I wonder what he's up to," Hermione whispered to Harry. Harry had the same expression as her, of intrigue and skepticism.

"Nothing good," Harry responded. Although she didn't doubt that Draco Malfoy would attempt to gatecrash, given his recent history of suspicious behavior, she was doubtful that it was the end of the story. Draco looked as tired as ever, his skin was paler and gaunt, and the bags under his eyes made him look much older. She couldn't help but acknowledge that he had grown up quite a bit, but she didn't have a chance to think about it much longer, having seen Cormac moving in her direction.

"Oh no, here he comes. Bye Harry!" she said, ducking out of crowd and out of the party.

»»-¤-««

Hermione found solace outside of the party, in the quiet halls of the Hogwarts castle. She had been curled up in the window sill, sitting with her potions book splayed in her lap. She always liked to keep emergency reading material with her, and was thankful she took the time to enchant her elegant clutch to house several of her textbooks that evening.

Add porcupine quills, stir four times anti-clockwise, add a sprig of peppermint, add sopophorous beans…

She repeated the steps to herself, attempting to memorize them, but all she was managing to do was to doze off. She sighed and stood up, tucking the book back into her bag, regretting having drank several Butterbeers. Well, if Harry manages to produce another potion better than me, I suppose it'll be my fault, she thought. She had begun to walk down the hall, making a turn toward the staircases when sheer force stopped her from moving forward. She collided into something hard, and her belongings fell to the floor.

"What the -" she heard a voice say, slowly understanding that it was a tall man she had just walked into, and not an invisible wall. Her body was still connected tightly with the man in front of her, and he had her clutched by the arms. "Granger?"

"Malfoy?" she knew him by his voice first before she looked up to see him, his gray gaze was unreadable. He stepped back, but his hands continued to hold her by her arms.

"Are you following me?" he asked, searching, "Again?"

"Of course not, Malfoy, I don't spend my free time following you down empty corridors -" she said defensively, "why would I even do that?"

Malfoy shrugged and slowly lowered his hands, his palms running slowly over her arms before disconnecting and dropping at his sides. The moment felt like ages to Hermione, who was painfully aware of his touch on her skin.

"I don't pretend to understand women, let alone Gryffindor women who date Cormac McLaggen…" Hermione glared at him, how dare he have the audacity to comment on who I'm dating!

"Excuse me, Malfoy, but I don't know how that's any of your business. And actually, I am not dating Cormac McLaggen, I just -" she paused, unsure of how to verbalize her affiliation with the brute, "I didn't want to ask anyone else."

"Good," Draco said with a nod, his brows were knit and his gaze lowered, revealing nothing. He appeared irritated, but he held such a strong hold on his emotions that it frustrated her, especially after having seen him in a deliriously satisfied state under the Calming Draught. He appeared to be back to his cold, closed-off self. "You could do a lot better than Cormac McLaggen."

The comment stunned her. Draco leaned forward and reached to pick up her beaded clutch. He took her elbow in his hand and placed the short handle of the purse around her wrist before stepping back. It felt as though a knot was forming inside Hermione's belly. However, before she had a moment to react, or to digest her own emotions, the shrill, raspy sound of the Hogwarts caretaker rang through the hallway.

"Well, well, well," Argus Filch said, sauntering down the hallway toward them, "I warned you, Mr. Malfoy, that if I saw you again wandering the corridors at night, you'd regret it! And look at that, you're not alone. Ms. Granger, having a midnight romp with Mr. Malfoy, are you?"

Hermione gaped as Draco sighed.

"Detention!" he exclaimed with excitement, "The both of you! Tomorrow night," his mouth twisted into a wicked smile, "in the dungeons." Filch giggled to himself as he walked away, "Oh, what a delightful Christmas it will be!"

"Fuck!" Draco exclaimed, burying his face in his hands as he rubbed his eyes, "Fantastic, perfect, just what I need."

"Well, it's your fault!" Hermione stated, the deluge of emotion dissipating as the reality of having detention sunk in. "If you didn't run into me…"

"What do you think, I positioned myself in front of you so you could just walk into me? I didn't plan this," he said irritably.

"It's fine," she sighed resigned as she moved away from him and toward the direction of the Gryffindor dormitories, "we'll just get it over with, and it'll be fine."

She believed it. Although she dreaded detention on principle, a spark of nervous excitement swelled in the pit of Hermione's stomach.

»»-¤-««

The next day felt like it dragged on. Hermione spent most of the day mulling over books in the library, preemptively preparing for future lessons in Defense the Dark Arts, knowing full well that Snape had no intention of going easy on any of them this year. She found herself tapping her quill against the desk until the feathers frayed, and she would often bounce her leg impatiently as the day crawled on. This was unsual for Hermione, who appreciated the opportunity to lose herself in her books for hours on end. She just felt anxious, or perhaps anticipatory, and without a doubt nervous at having to see Malfoy again. He's just so different this year, I can't figure out what it is, Hermione thought. He seemed more aloof, in his own world, but he had lost of some the arrogant self-absorption that was a Malfoy trademark. She couldn't decide whether she liked the change. It didn't matter anyhow, she was just glad that she would be able to ask him more about his odd behavior of late.

It took her a few minutes to realize that she had been re-reading the same sentence about Dried Billywig Stings six times before she snapped the book shut and stood up, leaving the library to head to dinner.

It was an awkward affair. Hermione had been sitting in her usual spot, having arrived early to dinner, where Harry joined her soon after.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Yes, I am," Hermione said, serving herself a spoonful of potatoes, "why do you ask?"

"You've had a rough week, haven't you? What with Ron snoggi- er, what with your disagreement with Ron, and I heard you've got detention with Malfoy tonight which sounds like hell."

She glanced up at him, an invasive blush forming on her cheeks.

"It's fine," she said dismissively, to which Harry shot her a quizzical look. "Who cares about Ron, Harry, he's been rude to me for the last month and he's decided that he'd rather spend all of his time with Lavender Brown than either of us, so I'm doing myself a favor and moving on immediately. As for detention, I don't quite know how you heard about that, but it's fine, I could use the time scrubbing toilets - or whatever it is that Filch wants us to do - to think and plan the Runes essay that's due next week."

Harry nodded slowly, "You're stronger than I give you credit for, Hermione."

She couldn't help but smile at his words. He was a supportive friend; despite the fact that Harry always had a full plate in life - both with the challenges of being a Hogwart's student, but also the slight dilemma of being 'The Chosen One' - Hermione was appreciative that he took the time to be there for her even when he would have preferred that she and Ron ultimately reconciled.

As if their conversation summoned him, Ronald Weasley strode in to the Great Hall with Lavender Brown clinging to his arm. Hermione took it as her cue to leave, but before she could slither out of her seat he had spotted Harry and had made his way to sit across from them.

"Hermione," Ron said indifferently. "Heya Harry, how was," he lowered his tone to a whisper, "meeting with Dumbledore?"

Hermione had managed to tune him out enough to enjoy her glass of pumpkin fizz when a small squeaking sound caught her attention. She looked around for the source of it, but couldn't determine where it came from until she felt something nipping at her ankle. She gasped and yanked at it, pulling it up into view. At this point, her reaction had caught the attention of those around her and she heard a few laughs when she realized what she was holding was an small rabbit made entirely out of paper. It was animated and lively, attempting to nip gently at her hand when she placed it on her lap and turned it over, noticing that the rabbit had writing on it.

"That from your boyfriend McLaggen?" Ron asked derisively. Hermione did not dignify him with an answer or acknowledgment as she pet the spine of the rabbit and the structure of the paper creature loosened, revealing the note that it had hidden. In thin cursive handwriting, the deconstructed rabbit read:

  
Filch wants us to meet him

near the Dungeon Hall at 8pm.

-DM  


"Well, what is it?" Harry said, looking at her expectantly.

"Nothing, just - just a prank," Hermione said, shoving the letter in her robe pocket. She didn't think she would have lied to Harry if he was the only one listening, but Ron did not deserve to know anything about her life until he learned to treat her with some respect.

»»-¤-««


End file.
